Everyone was out except the two of us. I was sipping tea and reading. She was writing a journal entry on her computer. I glanced up from my corner of the couch, and I could see the title big and bold: “My Family.”

“May I read it?”

She ducked her head shyly. “It’s kind of personal, Mom. But sure.”

I leaned closer and squinted at the screen. She wrote about each member of the family, our house, our pets. Honest perspectives of an eleven-year old child. Truthful depictions. And these words:

“My mom loves me very much.”

I’m not sure why it touched my heart so deeply. Perhaps because those are her unedited thoughts. Perhaps because it didn’t occur to her to write down all the ways I miss the mark. Perhaps because my shortcomings didn’t even register in her mind.

Love covers a multitude of sins. I see my flaws; she rests in my love.

The most I can ever hope for — my greatest prayer — is that my children know that, next to Jesus and no matter what, I love them. Wholly. Completely. Unconditionally.

Mama, you know your struggles. If you’re anything like me, you probably spend a lot more time than necessary berating yourself for them, apologizing for them, wishing you were different.

No one is perfect, sweet mama. But also, no one can care for your children like you. It’s your calling and your purpose.

On the messy days, remember that. On the days when you’re at the end of yourself, rest in it. Because this is the truth:

You see your flaws.

Your children see your love.